The Widow, unwoven
by JjMoore
Summary: Post Manhattan's invasion. Staying clear of Barton, the Widow has been out of commission for months. For a woman who doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve, she's surely suffering the repercussions of almost losing her partner. Meaning, he just might mean more to her than meets the eye. Realization kicking in a little too late, now Barton gets to watch the Widow's web become unwoven.


Precisely the justified dosage of Latrotoxin seeped smoothly into two-full wine glasses. The neurotoxin, within a mere moment, was undetectable as the redhead sipped down several lengthy pulls. Or so it would seem to the naked eye.

"_Rough night, or are you awaiting your partner in crime?_"

The voice belonged to a passerby. A stranger amongst the crowd who seemingly had his attention stolen by a slender frame in a well fitted nightshade colored cocktail dress.

"_Curiosity killed the kitty._" A lean grin lacing her lips as she shifted her attention to tonight's target. "_Or so the story goes._" Smirking as she swallowed another sip of her wine. As to be expected, the stranger took the stool beside her, returning the smirk.

"_I'll take my chances._" His tone calm and collected as he leisurely lifted the untouched glass to his lips, the gesture oozing with overconfidence. Her smirk remained resolute.

"_It would be a shame to leave such a woman, especially one of your standards, unoccupied. Someone might snatch you up._"

Her hues catching his as he drank a taste of the wine, savoring its sharp sweetness. The tip of her finger tilted his glass further, urging him to down the drink more to her speed, as she stood.

"_A man of many words. Does he heed his own advice?_" The Widow leaned in, her lips lingering inches from his. "_Or am I going to have to play damsel in distress for you to take a hint?_"

The ride to the room was short, a bit shorter than she estimated. Plan B. Tugging on the target's tie; she escorted him to the bed. With one swift shove, he hit the mattress, lying in prime position for her to make her move. Seizing the shade of crimson lipstick that was tucked efficiently into her bra, she laced her lips, staining their fullness. And then, devouringly, she slithered atop him, her mouth claiming his. The stranger's tongue, tasting her taste for a moment, a moment much too long, as the crimson shade tinted his lips.

"_So near and yet so far_", Russian toned sarcasm lathered her lips as she shut the door closed, behind her.

/

"_What's your position, Agent Romanoff?_" Her earpiece echoed to life, Fury's voice coming in clearly.

"_Target surrendered to my spider bite._" Natasha informed.

"_And Barton?_" She knew that was coming.

"_I gave him the night off._"

"_Do you ever stick to protocol, Romanoff? It's a two-man operation. You need Barton._"

Her tone amused, though her features spilled contradiction. "_It is a two-man operation, but a one-woman job. In regards to Barton…_" her tone trailing, "_we both know, I work better alone._" With that, the communication ended, the earpiece falling to her feet.

Ever since the shit hit the fan in N.Y she stuck to instinctual habits. Handling such propositions single-handedly. Keeping Clint as far as possible away from incoming danger. She had been compromised. A minor detail she wasn't keen on sharing. The terrorizing thought of losing _him_ to related circumstance, or _any other_ circumstance, toyed with her head. Effortlessly breaching her sanity and evidently, her assessment of scenario.

"_Leaving so soon?_"

Peering over her shoulder a familiar face caught her off guard. The inquiry coming from the bartender, who had served her prior to her little 'meet and greet'. She was sure she tipped well above the rate and yet he was willing to make small chat. Something was seemingly off.

"_You're not the only one who likes to play with poison,_" his tone sickly sweet. Realization settling in. "_I knew you were going waste the wine, but at some point your lips had to touch the glass, to make things a bit more believable. And so here we are._"

And as easily as the words poured from his mouth, darkness consumed her, falling into her foe's arms. Before she fully succumbed, one name defiantly purred in the midst, _Barton_.

/

Several hours later or so it seemed, her consciousness stirred. Cooing confidence slurred against her ear, the speaker male and Russian. His breath drenched with the whiff of vodka as his flawed vocabulary hit harshly against her cheek. A trademark he swiftly smeared. Any purebred Russian efficiently knew the knack to holding their liquor. The such slurred speech, was a notable telltale he was just one of the pitiable schmucks pulled into the middle of the mess thanks to a low-budget salary. Not the slick snatcher.

Her perspective took another second to settle in. And when it did, it lingered promptly on the prime suspect.

"_How's the hangover, dollface_? His accent rich with sarcasm, "_hanging in there?_" A grin, in lack of grace sealed his lips.

"_Nothing a shot of Smirnoff can't fix._" Her own sarcasm, sleek and refined. Which in turn earned her a sloppy, inept strike to the face. The slap stung but barely caught her off guard. Her features dared to falter as she rerouted her attention back to the bartender, her tongue licking away the spilt blood that laced her lower lip. After all, this was part of the plan.

"_It's been said, a widow weaves her web without getting caught herself. I'm a fair fan of contradiction._" His words condescending as he closed the space between them. His fingers finding their way around her neck with ease, gently choking, before tracing her skin's smoothness up to her jaw. His thumb forcing her hues to meet his stare. "_There is so much wasted potential waiting to be persuaded. I think you forgot just how good you were when you were bad._" The tip of his thumb outlining the curve of her mouth, before continuing, "_I want to wield the Widow. Break you down and shred every last bit of your silky sense of morality_. _And when I'm done and you've served your purpose and everything you have ever known is shattered beyond restoration…_" His tone trailing to a whisper,"_I'll put you out of your misery._"

Her teeth clenched her tongue, the taste of blood quenching her cool. This was the first time, in a long time; she detested her own power of persuasion. She despised, not the fact he could use, abuse and dispose of her, but that _she_ _was the_ _target_.

"_You can't break the broken._" Her tone calm and collected, despite her cracking composure. His grasp, once again tightly at her throat.

His mouth, merely inches from hers, "_then, I'll settle for playing with the pieces_." With that, his mouth met with hers momentarily, savoring her willingness to defy. She tasted, only defeat.

"_Aren't spiders supposed to bite… or have you lost your touch, Itsy bitsy?_"

The mock fell flush against her features. Her stare stealing his, "_Spiders don't bite unless they feel threatened._"

The metallic metal of the cuffs gnawed at her wrists, tearing tender the skin. Fiddling with finesse, she dislocated her thumb, easing the pain into her next phrase. "_The simplicity of words don't make me susceptible to popular belief. On the contrary, I stick to the straight and narrow, 'seeing is believing' stance._" Wasting little to no time, she tugged her fist free and sent it soaring; her aim point on, her timing off.

The former bartender caught her punch mid-air. Snatching hold of her fist as he stilled the tip of a syringe into her forearm. Natasha struggled against his grasp, unable to pull away fast enough. The liquid leaked within her veins, venturing to fill its course. A matter of minutes was all it took to find herself immobile.

"_No Natalia,_ _this time you get to play the prey._"

Her fist falling free of his hold, "_well, at least until we re-wire you and revamp you, rogue-redefined_." He concluded his commentary as another needle breached her flesh. "_And now we sit back and watch as the Widow becomes unwoven_."

"_Security breach, Sir. The mainframe has been hacked._"

Spoke the voice muffled through the speaker, as the barkeep slid the syringe from her skin. _Fury_. Her sanity was saved, until her train of thought shifted to her partner. In that second, something triggered. Her recall was seemingly shot.

"_Perfect timing,_" reassured her rampant train of thought. "_Don't worry, the numbness will subside soon enough. And when it does, you'll pray you couldn't feel a thing._" The supplied remark shot a shiver down her spine…or at least she suspected it to. The threat, effortlessly toying with her gut as her boggled brain brawled against the sensation. "_Ta-ta, Natalia_."

And then they were gone. With perfected timing too. Her frame fought to its freedom, taking a stand. Slightly stumbling from the lack of stability and lingering lethargy, she found her way to the table within shortest distance from where she stood. Not much to surprise there was an array of arsenal sprawled out for the taking. Snatching up a twin-pair of pistols before heading for the exit. A merciless chill whisked eagerly through her frame, shattering her strained composure as she dragged herself onto the streetlight-lit sidewalk. The slightest shiver escaping her slightly parted lips as the tips of her fingers fiddled at the triggers of her twin-guns.

It was only then she caught sight of the blue-eyed, blonde boy partner of hers. Her mind-set shifted, aiming her paired-guns straight at her partner, only for a second or two, before lowing.

"_One of these days I have to teach you to learn to listen_." Her smile spilled her insecurity as her stance swayed. "_You and Fury tag-teaming me, Barton?_" Unconvincingly trying to steer the strained tension in her tone, "_I'm a big girl. I got it covered_." Her deception typically held much more conviction then the truth.


End file.
